In my last post I described the beginning of my day, the creaky ride up to eleven hours of ups and downs full of surprises.
Some days it's relatively easy. A lesson goes smoothly. Perhaps at the time I have a "good" class. Bright, motivated and hard workers. That's a pleasure, but not always the case.
Sometimes by pick of the draw I'll get a group that is, how shall I put this diplomatically...challenged?
One colleague sums it up as, "one French-fry short of a Happy Meal", or I've heard, "one firecracker short of a Chinese New Year". It's all the same meaning that overall they are just more work and harder to teach.
One repeat student, who had failed my baking class before stood right in front of me as I demonstrated how to mix a type of dough. I slowly went through the procedure, repeated verbally the very important steps, looked him straight in the eye as well as my other students (the ones paying attention). Literally two minutes after they were to do it on their own he asked me questions that I had just explained. The exact process I had just taken him through. Where the hell was his mind? Maybe the little squirrel who rides the bicycle inside his head that supplies the power to his brain had been on a nut break. I don't know. I take a deep breath and use all my most patient skills from being a mother and explain it once again.
Okay- so I have some of those to contend with.
The biggest surprises though that require split decisions and thinking are the outbursts. One must remember that our student body does contain some people with violent backgrounds. They have the tatoos and the piercings as souvenirs (unlike a lovely crocheted poncho given to a certain famous ex-boss of mine with a record). We have a security guard on premise and any type of incident is written up.
One afternoon I strolled into our hot kitchen ready to start the day's topic. Our class the day before had been the second part of a lesson where we iced and decorated the cakes we made on day one.
My class was seated around the stainless steel table in the back of the room where the board is. There was the usual buzz of conversation, getting their books and supplies out. As soon as I reached my place at the head of the table I looked up at the face at one of my students, enraged.
"Chef, why you give my cake away?!" Large brown eyes with long lashes, usually friendly stared coldly at me. The border of his black do-rag showing beneath his regulation white patisserie cap. Most days this guy was kind of goofy and I had to keep him focused on task. Today he would not get off it.
"Because", I said calmly,"you were not here yesterday".
"But Chef, that cake was mines!" , this is one word I really have trouble with. "Mines", and it's not the plural of an underground tunnel where coal is harvested.
"The policy is when you miss one half of the lesson you don't get to finish it. That was explained very clearly from the beginning of this module. We have to keep moving"
"Yeah but why you give MY cake away. I can't help it if someone else dropped they's! That cake was mines!"
His cake had been used as a replacement when another student had dropped hers yesterday. She's another story.
Back and forth it went. The class watched, a couple of people chimed in with a "let it go, man" or "you holdin' the class up". The student only became more agitated and loud.
I have learned in my short time there that there is something very primal in our teacher-student relationships. You have to let them know who is boss. You have to do it quickly. Because everyone else is watching and they will walk all over your ass if you don't. There are not a lot of white Jewish lady from Connecticut (now of Chelsea/Meatpacking) chef instructors, or for that matter probably anywhere in their lives.
I had a moment. A moment where I stood outside of my body and looked down at this stand-off. I didn't know what this kid's background was. I didn't know how far he'd take it over his stupid cake. I knew though that I had to put an end to this. This fire had to be put out immediately.
"OUTSIDE, NOW!" A very large and loud voice from within me commanded.
"You had no right to do that, Chef!", he would not drop it.
"NOW, YOU AND ME. OR I WILL CALL SECURITY. NOW!"
The room was quiet. He pulled away from the table, and swaggered toward the door.
I had won. I had conquered the enemy in front of the onlookers.
And it felt good. I felt empowered.
I walked out to meet him in the hallway. He started again about that damn cake.
"LISTEN. I WILL NOT HAVE YOU DISTURB MY CLASS ANY LONGER. I AM THE CHEF, I MAKE THE DECISIONS AND THAT IS FINAL. IF YOU HAVE ANY FURTHER PROBLEM YOU TAKE IT TO CHEF B.
I HAVE A CLASS TO TEACH.
The voice had spoken. Now I swaggered. As he went back into the classroom, muttering to collect his things, I went to Chef B. and gave him the heads up. He nodded and agreed with me.
I went back to my class and apologized for the delay. I explained the two day lesson policy again. Not only did they all say that they knew that but they gave me their full support. Apparently what he was really worked up about was not that the cake had been used but who had used it. He didn't have any love for her and it pissed him off big time.
A few minutes later the student returned to the classroom and apologized. I calmly accepted his apology and gave him directions on what he was supposed to do now.
The class went on without a hitch and he never f***ed with me again.
